


Wrapping Up

by aschicca



Category: Queer as Folk US
Genre: First Person, Flashbacks, M/M, Post 513, a touch of angst, pov fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschicca/pseuds/aschicca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s my own fucking house. I bought it. I can sell it whenever I want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrapping Up

Brian’s POV

I stand in front of the window, my eyes fixed on the grounds surrounding the house I bought in West Virginia. Tilting my head, I stare at the ‘Vette parked just outside the house, almost as if I expect the car to answer the question that keeps twirling in my mind: Why am I here? 

Mother Taylor is handling everything for me so all I need to do is sign a fucking boat-load of papers and be done with it. I don’t need to be here. What the fuck am I doing here?

_( “You’re selling the house?!” Michael yells at me, and I roll my eyes at his gaping mouth._

_“That’s what I said.”_

_“But, Brian! Does Justin know?”_

_“Yes, Mikey,” I tell him in my best ‘you really are pathetic’ voice. “Justin knows. His fucking mother is my realtor, remember?”_

_“And he’s okay with it?”_

_“He doesn’t really have a say, though, does he? It’s my own fucking house. I bought it. I can sell it whenever I want.”_

_Michael’s mouth opens even wider and, suddenly, I see another reason why the Professor is so fond of him. I mentally shudder at the thought._

_“That is bullshit, Brian! You bought that house for_ him _! Of course, he has a say in the matter!”_

_“Well, he said it’s fine. So stop queening and eat another slice of pizza.”_ )

I shake the memory of Michael’s reaction out of my head, and turn from the window. I wasn’t lying to Michael; I did speak with Justin – on the phone, but that’s often the way it is these days – and he did say it was fine. Fine. Everything’s fine. It is.

Yet, here I am today. In this house. In this room where I stood in front of the fireplace and gave my best pitch. It’s what I do after all. I advertise, you buy: _If you wanna be cool, if you wanna be popular, if you wanna get laid – this is the man you have to marry._ Is it really a wonder Justin decided to buy what I was selling? I even wrapped it up in a nice package, with stables and a pool. I hear a laugh and I don’t like the sound of it. I’m not even sure I like the fact that it’s coming from my own lips. 

Taking a few steps, I find myself facing the fireplace and I lean on it – memories of that day, the day when I asked Justin to marry me, still running through my head. _For my Prince_ … what a fucking load of shit! No wonder Justin realized he was making a mistake, no wonder he ran all the way to New York. 

_(“I spoke with Justin, yesterday. I miss him.” Molly says, looking at me like she’s blaming me as well as feeling sorry for me. And when the fuck did she start hanging out at my loft every day?_

_“And?” I ask her, raising one eyebrow._

_She rolls her eyes. “And, you asshole, you could visit him more often!_ We _could visit him this weekend! Couldn’t we?”_

_“Right. First of all, you need to stop hanging out with Debbie and her foul mouth,” I say, only to snort when Molly replies that it’s not Debbie she’s modeling her speeches after. “Second, some of us have to work, you know?”_

_I can see Molly launching into one of her endless rants, so I block out the words she’s spewing a mile a minute, and wonder how pissed she’ll be at me if I bought her a first class ticket to New York to visit her brother this coming weekend. I think I’d like to find out…_ )

I laugh remembering Molly’s face, torn between excitement and anger, when I gave her the ticket I’d bought for her. She couldn’t stop babbling about New York when she came back. I often ask myself how long it’ll be until I’ll lose another Taylor to the Big Apple.

But Molly has nothing to do with the reason I’m walking this stupid trip down memory lane and, even if I think I will miss her when she’ll leave – although I’d never tell her – her brother is the person all this is about. Her brother who realized, before it was too late for the both of us that, as I’m always saying, there’s no fucking truth in advertising.

I don’t want to get married. I never wanted that and I never will. Fuck marriage. Fuck contracts that claim the right to state that I have to love someone. I don’t need anyone reminding me every second that I’m not free to decide who to live with, who to fuck, who to love. That path can only lead to destruction.

Justin understood that, even when I was trying to deny it. Even when I was trying to convince myself that it wasn’t true. I believed in what I said to him that day, in this room. I wanted him to say yes, I wanted him to marry me. I wanted to convince myself that nothing could take him away from me. Not a bat, not cancer, not a fucking bomb. I was scared, just like he said… _“You don’t mean it. How can Mr. ‘I believe in fucking not love’ mean it? Besides, you’re only asking because you’re freaked out about what happened to Michael.”_ He was right. I was scared. 

Telling Justin I loved him was one thing and, okay, that too was brought up by the terror I’d felt when I heard about the explosion at Babylon, but it was the truth. The simple, fucking truth I’d been too coward to admit, even to myself. I loved him. I _love_ him. But I don’t want to marry him. I don’t need to put a ring on his finger to remind myself why no one else is like him. He doesn’t have to take my name to be mine.

I slam my fists on the mantle, hard, and I’m glad to feel the sudden shot of pain on my hands. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about these things today? Why here?

“Somehow I knew I’d find you here.”

I turn around quickly, head still reeling, and for a moment I can’t shake out the feeling that I’m hallucinating. But I’m not. He’s here.

“Hi,” Justin says, and smiles.

“Hey,” I reply, looking at him. He looks tired. “Why are you here?”

“Same reason as you, I guess.” Justin says, and I want to yell at him to just tell me already because _I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here!_ “It’s been a year,” he keeps talking, maybe sensing my thoughts. “One whole year since we stood in this room and you asked me to marry you.”

And just like that, I get it. One year, today. I let out a laugh and shake my head. I didn’t even fucking remember and yet, somehow, here I am.

“Brian?” Justin calls. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.” And isn’t that the fucking tune of the day?

Justin nods and comes towards me. My body tenses but I welcome him in my arms, and hold him tight. I feel his hands gripping my shirt and his breath is hot on my neck. I close my eyes and breathe him in. Justin.

We stay like that for a moment, but then he takes a step back. “Mom told me she already has a few people interested in Britin.”

Britin. It’s just ‘the house in West Virginia’ for me, but for Justin it’s ‘Britin.’ Maybe Michael was right. Justin has as much of a say in this sell than I do. But he agreed. He said it was fine!

I realize Justin’s still waiting for me to reply. “I know, she told me.”

Justin nods, then sighs. “What if we told her we changed our minds?” He asks, surprising me.

“Did we?” 

“I think we did. I think _I_ did. I know it’s kind of a waste to keep it closed for the big part of the year, but Brian, we could keep Britin as a house for the holidays. At least until we’re ready to come live here.”

Live here? “Justin, I thought we agreed. You live in New York, and I’m settled at the loft. This house…” I stop, and open my arms looking around the room. “Fuck, don’t you see that this is not…” I shake my head when words refuse to come out of my mouth.

“But it is, Brian. It is. I know why you bought it, okay? I know,” Justin says, but I interrupt him.

“You don’t know shit, Sunshine,” and fuck! I hate how bitter I sound.

“I do know, Brian. I do. The more appealing the wrapping, the more easy the sell.” Justin sing-songs, and I can feel my eyes widen. The little shit truly has my number. “Yeah,” Justin laughs, “I get it. But you know what? I don’t give a shit. I like both the package and the product,” he winks, making me laugh out loud, “and I think I’d like to keep them both, if you don’t mind.”

I’m still laughing when I find myself with an armful of Justin. We cling to each other and he whispers in my ear, “When I said yes that day, I meant it.”

Startled, I push him away from me and I stare into his eyes. He doesn’t… he’s not thinking that I… fuck, I thought he knew! I thought he…

“One of these days you’ll give yourself a heart attack, Brian. Shut your fucking brain up and listen. Are you listening?”

I glare at him, and my glare only intensifies when he laughs. “I said yes to you, and I might even have said yes to this house because, fuck! Stables and a pool? Yes, please!” He grins, and I feel myself grinning back to him. “I don’t want to marry you, I just want you. And, Britin.”

“What exactly are you saying?” I ask, because I need to.

“I’m saying that I won’t be in New York forever. Maybe another year or two. We’ll see. We’ll decide it together. And when I come back – because, Brian, I _am_ coming back – I would like to find Britin still here, with us.”

That last sentence makes me snort. “You do realize you’re talking about the house as if it’s a person, don’t you?” I joke, and he swats my arm.

“So, what do you say? Should we tell Mom we changed our minds?” Justin asks.

“I think _you_ should. This is your house, too, after all.” 

Justin kisses me, and I find myself holding tightly onto him, almost as if I'd want him to become a part of me. Maybe he already is. 

“Thank you,” Justin says, breaking the kiss. “But you don’t fool me. You just don’t want to hear my Mom’s bitching!”

“Well, there is that…” I say, sticking my tongue in my cheek.

Justin laughs, and kisses me again. 

We move towards the window, and I can hear Justin talking about a room upstairs that gets all the right light, and wouldn’t that be perfect for a studio? I nod in all the right places – after all I’ve had lots of practice with Molly – and smile when Justin starts rambling about which room he wants to transform in Gus’ room.

I’m not really listening to all his plans, I just let Justin’s voice run over me with the knowledge that now, at least, I know why I’m here.


End file.
